


Reidun and the Wolf

by dungeoncruller



Series: Veslingr [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Bounty Hunter, Companion Piece, Davina Dark-Blade, F/F, Falkreach, Girls in Love, Mercenaries, Mildly Dubious Consent, Spin-Off, Veslingr, Werewolves, chicks with swords, daedric princes are assholes, ill met by moonlight
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 00:33:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14581044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dungeoncruller/pseuds/dungeoncruller
Summary: After what had started as a very successful hunt, Davina Dark-Blade finds herself caught in the snare of Lord Hircine. Now blessed with the Hunting God's "gift", she sets out to free herself from a cursed ring. Her quest may led not only to her freedom...they say wolves mate for life, right?This is a companion piece to my Veslingr story, following the events leading up to the marriage of Reidun of Hvalrsted and Davina Dark-Blade. It follows the quest "Ill Met by Moonlight" and incorporates aspects of the classic fairytale, Little Red Riding Hood.





	1. The Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Hey my dudes! dungeoncruller here with a tale of daedra, werewolves and girls in love. 
> 
> Much like the Veslingr series, the scale of Skyrim has been expanded, it's supposed to be a big place after all! This story takes place approximately in 4E 191/192, mostly in Falkreach Hold.
> 
> *Updated 2018-10-07*

**REIDUN AND THE WOLF: A TALE OF DAVINA DARK-BLADE**

 

* * *

 

**CHAPTER ONE: THE HUNTER**

Davina sheathed her blade, fingers lingering on the hilt as she felt for any cracks in the glass pommel. She hated live bounties, and by Shor this one had a hard skull! Feeling no damage to her the ornate handle, she grabbed a coil of rope from her worn leather saddle and began to tie up her unfortunate prey. Once satisfied he was securely bound, the tall Redguard woman slung the man’s limp body up and over the back of her sturdy fjord mare. The man in question would have been one of the more justifiable kills under her belt, but the bounty letter from the Jarl had explicitly stated that he was to be brought in alive.  
  
She once again pulled the folded, tattered parchment from within her leathers. Grasping the unconscious man by the hair, she brought up his face to inspect in the afternoon light, comparing the description to the man one final time.

 

> _BOUNTY_
> 
> _By order of Dengeir of Stuhn,  
>  Jarl of Falkreach:_
> 
> _The Nord Sinding is wanted_  
>  for the brutal murder of the child,  
>  Lavinia Caerellia of Corpselight Farm.
> 
> _He is yellow of hair and slight of build._  
>  Sinding is a known werewolf,  
>  approach with caution.
> 
> _A reward will be offered to anyone  
>  who brings Sinding in alive._
> 
>  

‘A werewolf, hah! If this scrawny wretch was a werewolf, then she was the bloody Empress of Tamriel.’ She snorted in a most unladylike fashion. ‘A werewolf indeed!’ Davina had tracked Sinding for three days from Knifepoint Ridge all the way to Lake Ilinalta, and never once had he shown a single sign of being anything other than a destitute, miserable human man. As she shoved the letter back under her leathers and made to mount her horse, the glint of sunlight on metal caught her eye.  
  
There, on Sinding’s right forefinger, was a small silver ring.

‘No sense in leaving that for the guards,’ she thought. ‘I’ll just take it as a bonus for his timely capture.’ Sliding the ring from his finger with the nimble dexterity of a Riften thief, Davina put the ring in her pocket. She would take a closer look at her prize once she’d collected the bounty from Jarl Dengeir.

 

* * *

 

Despite her obvious parentage, Davina had spent precious few years in Hammerfell. While still a young child, barely more than an infant, her parents had left the Isle of Stros M’Kai during the Great War hoping to find a better life in the northernmost province of Tamriel. After they had settled into their new home in the bustling trade port of Dawnstar, she had been raised in the same fashion as any other child of The Pale. It wasn’t until Davina had been a woman grown that she had left home, intent on joining the legendary Companions of Jorrvaskr.

Growing up she had listened to tales of the fabled heroes, of the mighty Atmorian known as Ysgramor and his Five Hundred companions. Gathered around the hearthfire of the Windpeak Inn, the bard Kera had spent many a cold winter night spinning yarns and singing poems of the legendary Companions of Jorrvaskr. While the adults enjoyed mugs of mulled mead and caught up on the day’s gossip, Davina and a handful of the city’s other children would huddle before Kera’s chair, eager for the next installment of Ysgramor’s tales of triumph and loss. She was particularly fond of Kera’s lyrical retelling of Yngol and the Sea-Ghosts, a ballad that she still knew by rote to this day. As soon as she was of age, she left Dawnstar for Whiterun with the hopes of becoming a Companion herself...  
  
And what a disappointment that had been.   
  
Unlike the legendary Ysgramor and his Five Hundred, these modern day warriors had shown little inclination to do anything beyond feasting and drinking. Shield-Brothers indeed! To see firsthand the bitter reality of her childhood heroes, how far they had fallen from glory, had been a sobering experience. After Jorrvaskr, Davina had traveled east and fallen in with a pair of sellswords who more than lived up to her misconstrued notions of the Companions. While not a member of a renowned order of mythical origins, Davina Dark-Blade had found honour and glory in the kinship of these two mercenaries as well as the adventure she had long craved.   
  
Years later, she was now a bounty hunter traveling the roads of Skyrim. Davina had become a welcome sight in many of the Nine Holds. Her infamy had spread, and her name had become a curse uttered around the campfires of bandits, and spoken with thankful praise in the barracks. After clearing a tomb in Ivarstead (which had been haunted not by ghosts or ghouls, but a crazed Dunmer wizard!), Davina was approached by the publican with a red-faced young man who had clearly been running a great distance.

The sputtering courier was bent over, still trying to catch his breath as he shoved a piece of parchment before her. With reflexes honed from years living by her blade, she had just managed to snatch her tankard of ale before the lad knocked it over in his haste. After a quick perusal of the page, Davina sighed and reached into her purse for a few septims which she left on the table. She patted the courier firmly on the shoulder as she rose, shoke the publican’s hand and made her way to the door as she deftly fastened her swordbelt.

A quick stop to saddle her horse and she was off, the fjord mare’s stiff mane and her scowling rider bouncing wildly down the western road.

The return to the woodland city of Falkreath had been uneventful, and even after he woke Sinding remained bitterly silent. ‘Thank the Nine,’ Davina thought. ‘I don’t know if I could manage to knock him out again without outright killing the bloody murderer. Sick, twisted bastard. What sort of monster kills little girls?’ She was thoroughly disgusted by Sinding, the antithesis of everything she had been raised to know a Nord to be. ‘I make a better Nord than this miserable bastard, and I’m a fucking outlander!’ She reflected upon the man distastefully as she remembered the heartwrenching results of the man’s dreadful deeds.  
  
The bounty collected and Sinding brought to finally face justice for his heinous crime, Davina headed Dead Man’s Drink to spend the night celebrating her success around the crackling hearth. The inn, much like the rest of the city’s shops and stores, was named in morbid jest after the famous, sprawling graveyard on the city edge. Name notwithstanding, Dead Man’s Drink was the liveliest locale, made all the livelier by the patrons joining in Davina’s celebration. The loss of young Lavinia had shaken the tight-knit community.   
  
It wasn’t until very late that night that the people of Falkreach began returning to their homes, staggering down the dirt roads to their respective homes. It wasn’t until after finally retiring to her own room that Davina remembered Sinding’s ring. Removing it from her pocket, she held the silver band towards the wavering lantern light, inspecting the unassuming trinket with a keen eye. It was heavier than she had previously remembered, decorated with swirling designs depicting the delicately carved head of a wolf. Two glinting pieces of black jet were set as the eyes, seeming to flash in the flickering light.

  
‘Now, do I sell it, or keep this prize for myself?’ Thought Davina as she slid the ring over her index finger. It fit perfectly, sitting snugly at the base of her finger as if it had been made for her. ‘Odd.’ She mused. ‘My hands are nowhere near the size of those mitts on that Sinding fellow.’ Stretching her arms out before her, Davina threaded her fingers and groaned as she felt the tell-tale crack of her joints. Glancing at the silver ring now wrapped about her forefinger, she stood up and began removing her leathers and padded linen trousers. Crawling under stiff, starched sheets and a thick homespun blanket, Davina drifted off to sleep.   
  
There were no windows in any of the rooms at Dead Man’s Drink, but if there were, any patrons not abed would have seen the sky alight with the bright glow of Masser. The large red moon hung amongst the stars, full and round as copper septim.

 

* * *

 

The night that followed, Davina Dark-Blade had restless sleep. She dreamt herself a greatwolf, with wiry black fur and bright golden eyes, hunting beneath an impossibly dark sky, the world below cast in a haze of red from a giant harvest moon. Her prey—a magnificent white stag that appeared spun from the light of Secunda herself. The sensation of dirt beneath clawed toes and padded feet; the feel of sharp teeth and powerful jaws tearing into yielding flesh; the scent of blood and fear heavy in the night air.  
  
It was to her horror that she awoke in the morning, covered in sticky blood and feathers, naked as her nameday behind the chicken coop at Corpselight Farm. Stealing away from the gruesome sight by the faint glow of dawn, Davina rushed back to the inn. It was pure skill, not chance that saw her safely back in her room, sneaking past drowsy patrolling guards and sleeping innkeepers. She whispered a silent prayer to the Gods, now cleaned after a thorough scrubbing in the small bath house, dressed and pacing in her room.   
  
‘So much for a simple bounty,’ scowled Davina. ‘It had to be that thrice-blasted ring!’ Once again safely confined behind the thick wooden door, away from the prying eyes of the innkeep and the now-waking staff, she had noticed that it had become impossible to remove. It appeared that, during the previous night’s nude escapades, Sinding’s silver ring was the only stitch of clothing that remained. Where in Shor’s name had her bedclothes gone? She would get to the bottom of this, and she knew exactly where to begin.   
  
After eating a hasty breakfast of gruel, washed down with a tankard of stale ale from the night before, Davina made her way to the guard barrack hoping to gain access to Sinding in his prison cell. Given the nature of his crime, she was certain that he would still be alive. A public trial followed by a hanging was a surefire way for the local Jarl to raise the moral of his people. He’d better not be dead at any rate, or she’d damn well drag him back from the seven Hells herself. That wolf bastard was going to pay for whatever curse he had laid upon her.   
  
It took little convincing for the captain of the guard to allow her entrance to the prison below. He had been in awe of the large woman, having heard tales of Davina Dark-Blade’s infamous exploits across Skyrim. The promise of sharing an ale at Dead Man’s Drink was all it took to sway the man. Pity really, for despite the man’s obvious infatuation with her, she had absolutely no desire to return his mislaid affections.   
  
“You must believe me, it wasn’t anything I intended to do!”

These were the first word’s out of Sinding’s mouth the moment of Davina’s approach. The cell was truly awful, even by Davina’s standards. The man stood in about six inches of water, dressed only in a pair of ragged trousers and shivering from the frigid waters in spite of his Nord blood.  
  
“And what did you intend to do exactly?” She stood right up against the bars, cutting an imposing figure as she made full use of her height, her dark amber eyes glaring down at Sinding.     
  
“I… I just…I just lost control!”   
  
“Lost control? Lost control!? You murdered that poor young girl! Barely ten winters old and you killed her in cold blood!”   
  
“I tried to tell them, I swear by the Nine I did! But none of them believe me!”   
  
“Tried to tell them what, that you didn’t mean to kill the child? Didn’t tear her to pieces, barely enough left for her grieving parents to bury?” She rattled the bars furiously, her blood was up and her hands itched to throttle the man. He cowered before her and spoke once more.   
  
“It’s all on account of that blasted ring!”   
  
There it was, the information Davina had been seeking. What had happened to her last night had been no accident, no strange case of moon-madness or excess of drink. She held up her hand to the bare, knuckles facing Sinding revealing the ring to him, fingers wriggling to emphasize her words..   
  
“And I assume this is what you are referring to?”   
  
“But how…how did you...how did you get that?” Sinding took a step back from the gate, looking visibly shaken He wrapped his arms about his chest and rocked slightly, eyes darting madly. “It was stuck fast, nothing would get that accursed ring from my finger.”   
  
“Well Sinding,” She spoke his name like a dirty oath. “I think the more important question here is, how in the seven hells am I going to be rid of it!?” Her chest was heaving, rage was building quickly. Slamming her fist against the bars, she looked accusingly at Sinding’s ragged form.   
  
“I’ve…I’ve been looking for a way to…appease him. To appease Hircine I mean.”   
  
“Appease Hircine? You mean the Daedric Prince Hircine, God of the Hunt?” The news made Davina’s stomach drop. All of her built up ire and rage quickly dissipated. Surely this wretched man hadn’t made a deal with a Prince?   
  
"There is a certain beast in these lands.” Sinding began. “A great white stag, large, majestic. It’s said that Hircine will commune with whoever slays it.” There was a wistful look in the man’s eyes. Despite his circumstance, despite everything it was clear that he still felt the call of the hunt.   
  
“So, I need to slay this fancy deer and Hircine will take his stupid ring back?” Her eyes narrowed. “And where, pray tell, am I to find said walking hunk of magic venison?”   
  
“I tracked it into these woods, but then I had my…accident with the child.” Davina scoffed at this remark but held her tongue as Sinding continued. “I wanted to beg his forgiveness. Give him back the ring. But while I’m stuck in here, the white stag wanders free.” With that, Sinding dropped to his knees, arms still clutched about himself as he sank into the icy water. He began to weep, overcome by his miserable, rotten luck and impending fate.   
  
“I will hunt the beast.” Davina said, more boldly than she felt. “Where did you see it last?”   
  
“You would do this, truly?” Sinding regarded her in nervous awe, wiping his dripping, snotty face on his arm before jumping to his feet. “He wanders the woods east of here, just south of Shriekwind Bastion. Bring him down and…well, the Lord of the Hunt should smile on you. I wish you luck. Should our paths cross again, I will remember your kindness.”   
  
“Kindness, hah! With any luck, you’ll be executed by the time I’ve slain the stag—”   
  
Before her eyes, Sinding transformed. In the waterlogged cell stood a man no more, buta great black beast with long, deadly-looking claws and sharp white teeth. With a mighty leap, he scaled the slick stone walls of his cell and vanished. Davina could only watch with disbelief as her previous bounty, now a werewolf, escaped.   
  
“Good hunting.” Was the last thing she heard, echoing off the walls of the cell in a bestial growl. On shaky legs, she turned to leave the jail, only to be stopped at the top of the stairs by a rather angry pair of guardsmen. Behind them stood a rather irate-looking captain. It looked like she would be dining alone that night after all.     
  
“You…you were talking to that murderous savage. And then he escaped. What are you hiding?”

Davina pushed past the men, kicking open the barrack door with a large, booted foot. Standing in the doorway, backlit in the growing morning light she turned to face them once more.

“Don’t worry boys,” She said with a smile that she could only hope wouldn’t belay her shaken confidence. “Davina Dark-Blade always gets her bounty.”


	2. The Maiden from Hvalrsted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armed with her father’s hatchet and a basket of goods, Reidun set out early on a crisp Hearthfire morning. While she was no warrior, the small ax was a simple weapon that would provide ample protection from any aggressive wildlife. It hung from her belt, the worn wooden handle occasionally banging lightly against her leg as it bounced along with her skirts.
> 
> *Updated 2018-10-07*

**REIDUN AND THE WOLF: A TALE OF DAVINA DARK-BLADE**

 

* * *

 

**CHAPTER TWO: THE MAIDEN FROM HVALRSTED**

 

Reidun smiled at her reflection in the polished glass, marveling at the sight of her new fox-fur hood. Her father had snared them himself, catching the sly beasts had been necessary to prevent further losses in their coops. The coats had been cured with the soft fur intact, and her mother had fashioned the red pelts into a beautiful, yet practical garment for her youngest daughter. The tails wrapped across her chest, shoulder-to-shoulder and held by a simple silver clasp. Today was the first time she wore the hood, the weather finally cool enough to warrant it. Paired with a red woolen cloak, she thought it looked rather striking.  
  
She was heading to the city of Falkreach to visit her eldest sister, Fjaera, whom had fallen ill with an early cold. The harvest had been late this year, and all hands had been needed in the fields, so Reidun was to travel the roads alone. It would take almost a half-day’s journey to reach her sister’s house, where she would be staying to care for sister for a few days before making her way back home. She was happy to have this short reprieve from working the fields and tending the livestock at Hvalrsted; her family’s farm just south of Lake Ilinalta.  
  
Armed with her father’s hatchet and a basket of goods, Reidun set out early on a crisp Hearthfire morning. While she was no warrior, the small ax was a simple weapon that would provide ample protection from any aggressive wildlife. It hung from her belt, the worn wooden handle occasionally banging lightly against her leg as it bounced along with her skirts.  
  
Even as a maid of seventeen, she still stood shorter than all of her six siblings. Her mother had come from the province of High Rock, the daughter of a Breton merchant who while visiting family in the Imperial City had fallen in love with a dashing Legion soldier, eventually following him all the way back to his native Skyrim. Reidun favored her mother’s looks, with long, dark brown curls, an aquiline nose, and skin that held a tan regardless of the season. Even with a life of hard farm labor, she was still soft bodied and, dare she admit it, on the plumper side. Her brothers had teased her relentless in their youth, claiming that the she was the reason her father had never seen fit to raise pigs, for they already had a one fat little piglet on the farm.

Reidun was a romantic soul, and often begged her mother to once again tell the tale of her parents’ meeting. How thrilling she found it, that her mother had eloped with her father, a discharged soldier who lost his arm fighting in the Great War. They had left behind Cyrodiil and headed north together, despite her grandparents’ stern disapproval of the match. Reidun spent many an afternoon lost in fanciful daydreams about finding her own true love. Perhaps a tall, dark stranger with a charming smile would happen by their farm, or a handsome rogue with kind eyes whom she would catch attempting to burgle the family home, only to forsake his thieving ways upon meeting her. Sometimes she would even imagine the Jarl’s nephew would finally fall to her flirtations and she would become his Jarlkona. Regardless of who or how, Reidun was certain someone would come along and sweep her off her feet into her very own happily ever after.

 

* * *

 

It was a beautiful day, albeit a bit chilly. The crisp autumn air was invigorating, bringing a rosy glow to her cheeks and a spring to her step.  Reidun marveled at her surroundings as she made her way down the road to the city. Small sections of stone walls still stood along the roadsides, a crumbling monument to ancestors long passed; the ancient Atmorans who had settled the lands of Skyrim so long ago. Originally these walls had been built to prevent the soil from eroding and the wilds from overtaking frequently-traveled paths, but after countless centuries of time they lay broken and forgotten, a relic of times gone by.

The leaves were a kaleidoscope of reds and golds, broken up by thick green boughs of evergreen and pine. As they fell to the earth below, they spun and danced along the winds. As a child Reidun had often fancied them to be dancing, for they twirled through the air like the ladies she would see during festivals. Late blooming mountain flowers and yellow dandelions were littered across the forest floor, fragrant lavender grew in patches along the road, slowly fading into dried stems as winter reached out with her frosty touch.

  
‘I should pick some for Fjaera,’ thought Reidun, as she passed by another section of crumbling stonewall. ‘Surely a bouquet will raise her spirits, and lavender smells so lovely when it’s dried.’ Stepping off the path into the brush, Reidun began to collect the colourful blooms, arranging them in her basket alongside the goods she carried from her mother; thick, crusty bread, a small clay pot of butter, golden apples and a bundled package of boiled cream tarts now rested just below the growing collection of flowers.  
  
Of course, like all good girls who stray from the safety of forest paths, Reidun would soon find herself hopelessly lost.  
  
She hadn’t seen the bears at first, bent over a collection of gnarled tree roots and she plucked several red blooms. When she finally saw them, a grizzly old sow with her cubs, she was struck with fear. A hatchet might be a suitable weapon against foxes or wolves, but against a bear she might as well be using a fork against a dragon. Slowly, she pulled the hatchet from her belt loop, all the while saying a silent prayer to the Nine that the beasts not notice her. She began to step backwards, hoping to find a safe hiding place until the bears had passed, when she felt a tell-tale crack underfoot.  
  
_SNAP._  
  
The mother bear rose to her hind legs in an instant, searching amongst the tree for the cause of the noise. Her small, dark eyes picked out the figure of the young woman, red cloak and fox-fur hood a stark contrast to the muted pines behind her. The bear gave a fearsome roar, and Reidun could only watch with wide, terrified eyes as the angry sow barreled towards her.

 

* * *

There was a blur of black fur as the sow was knocked over, crashing down to her side by the force of impact. A blood-curdling howl rang out, chilling Reidun to her very bones as she watched the black beast swept its massive claws at the prone bear. She pressed herself as close to the trunk of the pine behind her, desperately attempting to make herself as small as possible as she curled up under the boughs. The two enormous predators were now at each other's’ throats, the cubs had fled at behest of their mother’s wounded cries. Eventually, the old she-bear lay motionless on the ground, and the black beast sat panting beside her bloody body.  
  
Reidun dared to peak out at the scene, eyes finally taking in the massive shape of the dark creature before her. What she saw was an impossible monster, torn from her darkest dreams and the sinister stories of her childhood. An enormous wolf...no, a werewolf sat before her, with a shaggy coat black as the night and golden eyes that seemed to glow with supernatural light.  
  
Amber eyes met her own, the wolf had spotted her!  
  
Shaking like a leaf, Reidun watched in horror as the wolf rose to its hind legs and began towards her. He moved slowly on limbs ill-suited for such a task, far too long and twisted for man or beast. Bigger and broader than any person or animal she had ever seen, she knew he would stand a full head and shoulders above even her enormous father and certainly outweighed him by half. As it drew closer, she was surprised to notice that unlike her previous assumption of its sex, the beast was undeniably female.  
  
What was even more shocking was what happened next.  
  
The she-wolf, now standing within arms-reach of Reidun, dropped suddenly to the ground. It sat before her, head tilted slightly with a thick, leathery tongue flopping from its mouth as it seemed to pant…happily? Blood slowly oozed from a cut on its muzzle, a drop landing on a leaf with a soft splat. The tongue swiped once across the grisly mess before resuming its lolling position.

Going against every sane thought in her head that screamed to run away, Reidun hesitantly lifted a trembling hand to the great beast. The werewolf sniffed her fingers before giving them a wet lick with a raspy tongue. In complete awe, Reidun allowed it to butt its head against her hand, before taking the hint and giving a half-hearted scratch behind the pair of large, tufted ears.  
  
Once the young woman had calmed, the she-wolf led Reidun through the thick undergrowth and back to the roadside. She was permitted to give the beast one final pat behind the ears before it stalked off into the woods, blending into the shadows before disappearing completely. If anyone had asked Reidun, she would not deny that the entire ordeal was completely bizarre, absolutely absurd, and terribly amazing.  
  
A couple hours down the road, Reidun met a small group of hunters, presumably on their way from Falkreach. She had recognized them from the city, and they her, so they had stopped to share a quick meal before heading their separate ways.  
  
The trio consisted of three Nord, who introduced themselves formally as Ari, Niels and Valdr. As it turned out, they were on the hunt for a bear that had been terrorizing local travelers. Jarl Dengeir had set a bounty on the beast, which would be given in return for the bear’s pelt. Not fully trusting the hunters, she told them where she had spotted the mother bear and her cubs, but carefully omitted the werewolf or the grisly fight that ensued.  
  
“Good thing you got away safely girl,” Niels said with a wink, eyeing her hatchet. “I don’t think that little hatchet would have done you much good in a fight with that mama bear.”  
  
“And make sure you stay on the path this time!” The sole woman of the group, Ari, stood a good head and shoulders taller than Reidun, and seemed taller still as she leaned forward and gestured towards the forest. “There are most than just bears lurking in these woods you know.”  
  
“Ari’s right,” said Valdr. “There’s been talk of werewolves in these parts. I don’t think you’d stand much of a chance if you crossed paths with one of those monsters.” He reached up a muscled arm to scratch his shaggy blond head, Reidun’s eyes noticing several thick, ropey scars across his bicep. “Surprised your da even let you out here all alone, thought ol’Hvalr was a wiser man than that.”

The third member of the party, Niels, said nothing. He just grunted and nodded to Reidun before turning his back and continuing on down the road. His fellow hunters quickly followed, Valdr the only one to look back over his shoulder as the younger woman faded down the path behind them. Unbeknownst to neither Reidun nor the hunters, another set of eyes had been present and the proceedings, glowing softly in the underbrush.

 

* * *

 

The remaining journey was uneventful and Reidun arrived at the city just in time to join her sister for lunch. Fjaera had been delighted to receive the wildflower bouquet, insisting that Reidun set it in a vase by her bedside. “It makes me feel far less dreary.” She had said. “Being cooped up in bed all day is so terribly dull.”

The simple wooden cottage Fjaera and her husband lived in sat on the border of the city, as far from the sprawling graveyard as it could be without being lost into the dense woods. While her husband Naellion saw no issue, Fjaera was insistent that they not raise their future children “on top of an old boneyard”. The building was simple, and the decor even more so. The only embellishments were remnants of Naellion’s bosmeri heritage, a few hunting masks and several traditional weapons hung on the walls. Reidun wasn’t overly fond of the masks, she thought them garish and frightening, but even she had to admit they livened the otherwise dull atmosphere of the home.  
  
Over the next few days Fjaera recovered from her illness and insisted that before Reidun returned to Hvalrsted, they spend an evening together at the inn. While she had never had much of a taste for mead, Reidun knew that Dead Man’s Drink usually had sweet alto wine in stock, so she agreed, delighted to spend an evening at the lively tavern. Life on the farm never allowed Reidun the chance to enjoy a night out, Hvalrsted being too far from the nearest major settlement to warrant such activities with any frequency.  
  
As dusk drew near, Reidun and her hosts made their way to Dead Man’s Drink. Before they entered, Naellion pressed a small pouch of septims into her hands with a wink, before striding into the tavern behind his wife. It seemed to her that Naellion and Fjaera might not be present for the entire evening, but in any case she would be well-looked after by the barkeep. It was clear to Reidun (and anyone else who happened by the lovestruck couple) that the pair were trying in earnest to start a family. Her cheeks burned as she remembered the sounds of the night before.

Once she crossed the threshold, a wide grin stretched across her face. Men! Women! People! After spending countless months with few but her family for company, it was such a joy to spend time amongst new faces. She quickly gave her hair a once-over with her hands, smoothing down wayward curls and tucking them neatly behind her ears. A dramatic notion crossed her mind; what if she meets THE one? If Reidun had been the type to swoon, she surely would have at the thought. Instead she picked up her skirts, headed to the bar, and ordered herself a glass of wine.

Spotting her sister and brother-in-law seated at a nearby table, she crossed the room to join them. The bard struck up another song, and Reidun immediately gave him an appraising look. Seeing her younger sister’s intent stare, Fjaera nudged her husband and they both shared a knowing glance.

Delacourt the bard was a handsome young man, fresh from the Bard College of Solitude. He cut a rakish figure in his embroidered tunic, all tanned skin and blonde hair, tousled and swept back as not to get into his eyes while he played. And play he did. Reidun watched in amazement as his hand flew across his lute, never missing a note and singing all the while. She was deeply impressed by his talent. Giving a delicate sigh, Reidun nestled her chin on her threaded fingers as she watched Delacourt ply his trade, her elbows resting on the care-worn wooden tabletop and her right sleeve slowly drooping into her cup.

“Now my friends gather, gather round!” Delacourt’s voice was smooth and sure, carrying across the room with practiced ease. “I would now spin you a tale of our great lord Ysgramor! The harbinger of us all, and his mighty Five Hundred!”

> _Oh the moons in the sky_  
>  _'cross the night they did glow;_  
>  _as the Great Ysgramor_  
>  _led his people below._  
>    
>  _They landed their fleet_  
>  _upon old Hsaarik Head_  
>  _long boats littered the coasts_  
>  _twas a sight to behad._  
>    
>  _But what Ysagramor saw_  
>  _he found no joy within;_  
>  _laid before him on the shore_  
>  _he could not count his kin._  
>    
>  _And so to the Sea-Ghosts_  
>  _he commanded release_  
>  _of the Elder son Yngol_  
>  _from the treacherous beasts._  
>    
>  _A great battle ensued_  
>  _for a fortnight at least;_  
>  _until the storm broke_  
>  _and all fighting ceased._  
>    
>  _Of Yngol was nothing_  
>  _they found not a scrap;_  
>  _so Ysgramor slew them_  
>  _burned the beasts in a trap._  
>    
>  _And so now 'neath earth_  
>  _where dear Yngol should lay;_  
>  _within hallowed barrow_ _  
> _ his soul does belay.
> 
> Now my dear travelers  
>  _my friends do take care;  
>  _ _for if you seek glory  
>  _ of Sea-Ghosts beware!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An original composition for Delacourt, I wish they had offered more variety amongst the bard songs in the game...


End file.
